


all you have is your fire

by idioglossia



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Betaed, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Other minor characters - Freeform, The Golden Tower Compliant, because this is, listen this is just 1.8k of Alastair loving his son, pseudo-character death, thank u gray!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioglossia/pseuds/idioglossia
Summary: After Call's Iron Year, it's time for Alastair to see his son again. Then, it's time for them to part.ORA series of times a father and a son reunite and go their separate ways.





	all you have is your fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hozier's "Arsonist's Lullaby".
> 
> This was beta-read by the wonderful and fabulous [gray-mark](https://gray-mark.tumblr.com/), who y'all should absolutely check out. She's the reason this has some semblance of structure.
> 
> Final note before the fic: the first segment of this fic was originally posted, unedited on my tumblr. You might recognize it from there.

The second Call stepped off the bus, Alastair could tell he’d lost him to the mages.

It showed in the way he glanced back into the bus, how he clung to the scruff of the enormous wolf’s neck, how the resignation in his eyes was plainly obvious. Alastair had worried about this. Had worried that Callum would come back converted, his eyes shining with the mage’s light.

_ He doesn’t know _, Alastair reminded himself. Call would never need to know about Constantine, or the letters, or Master Joseph and his plans. He would have been safer away from the Magisterium’s prying eyes and Rufus’ keen watch, but he would be safe nonetheless.

And when Alastair took the Alkahest later, the mages _ would _ protect the Makar boy. Protecting the boy meant protecting the counterweight, protecting Call. There would be people to keep him safe, even if Alastair didn’t make it through the coming fight.

In the real world, outside of Alastair’s thoughts, Callum stepped reluctantly towards the door. Alastair shook himself loose from the cogs turning in his head and opened it, stepping out of the house.

“Callum,” Alastair said, his voice as warm as he could manage. He moved forward and embraced his son in a hug, ignoring the slight tensing of Call’s muscles before he returned the gesture. “It’s good to have you home.”

-

When he woke up his head was throbbing. Alastair could barely remember what had happened to him. It took him a minute of staring at the scene to put together the events that had occurred.

Call. Call had found the room.

He probably thought that Alastair had been planning to kill Aaron, Alastair realized ruefully. He couldn’t blame him. The size of the shackles, the Alkahest, the fact that he’d hidden the wolf- it all created an ugly image.

As for why it had really been there… Alastair could at least say his intentions were more honourable than killing the Makar. Not that there was _ anything _ honourable about what he had been planning to do to Joseph, but it was better than murdering an innocent child. At least he could say that it had been in the name of protecting his son when Alastair looked at himself in the mirror.

It wasn’t all about Callum, if he was being honest with himself, but Alastair Hunt was hardly an honest man. Years with Constantine and the occasional mid-battle discussion had taught him viciousness and he had grown familiar with the dark corners of Master Joseph’s mind. It had been painful, watching helplessly as his friend had followed Joseph more and more unquestioningly. And now- well, now there was only a chance for revenge left, and that was a chance that Alastair was willing to take.

But there was time for that later. Right now, Alastair had to find his son.

-

When Callum came home after Bronze Year, it was much more relaxed than the previous year had been. It likely helped that a certain blond friend was standing beside Call, chattering away with him. They stood happily on the lawn as the bus pulled away, and Alastair smiled as he opened the door. Call waved as they strolled up the short path.

“Hey, Dad!” he called loudly. Aaron gave him a smile and a small wave.

“Hello, Call. Aaron,” Alastair replied at a more reasonable volume, but just as joyfully. It was nice to see his son again, after so long. It was even better now that he didn't feel the looming presence of the mages in Call's very action. "Come on in you two, I was just about to start making some food."

-

Driving Call and his friends back to the Magisterium at the end of the summer felt… risky. Like maybe it was final. Like maybe Alastair wouldn't be seeing his son again. He knew, on an intellectual level, that keeping Call from the Magisterium would do nothing. His son was a stubborn, hard-headed, determined person with more dedication than sense who would have snuck out the moment Alastair turned his back.

But that didn't stop him from thinking about what could happen to the only surviving member of his family should he go back. Would it be worth it to know that Call was safe, even if he refused to talk to Alastair again?

He held the keys to the Rolls-Royce in his hand, so tightly that the sharp metal bit into his palm. Callum was just outside, talking to Tamara and Aaron while they waited for Jasper to be done with his hair. Alastair almost hated it. If Call hadn't made such close friendships, maybe he could have been persuaded to stay. If he hadn't been Aaron's counterweight, perhaps he could have been forced to.

But Alastair knew that it was futile now; Call would have walked through fire defenseless for any one of them, whether or not he knew it.

Jasper came into the room, his hair impeccably gelled and coiffed, his suitcase trailing behind him.

"Ready to go?" Alastair asked as he pasted a smile onto his face. He knew that he didn’t have any choice in the matter.

They and their luggage were all piled carefully into the car. Alastair took a deep breath and deliberately didn’t look back at Call as he drove them out of the driveway and off to another year of school.

-

They send Rufus to tell him, which might have just taken the cake for worst choice made. _ Ever _. Alastair didn't bother trying to avoid the tirade that they had both known was coming the second that Rufus had set foot in the room. Instead, he channeled all his rage, fear, and misery into verbally beating Rufus back. It was a fight that he won, by anyone's definition, but he walked away feeling like the loser.

Call, imprisoned. Call, the Enemy of Death. Call, his son, _ his only family _, in the Panicopion.

Alastair had won the fight, but he knew he'd lost the war.

-

Six months.

Six months of waiting, six months of interrogations, six months of tears and legal battles, six months of Tamara Rajavi's crushed face as she was lead away in tears from Aaron's corpse at his funeral. Six months since Call had been thrown in prison.

Of course, it had been even longer since Alastair had been able to see his son. At this point, he'd completely given up keeping track of the days for the sake of not completely losing his goddamned mind.

But today was _ finally _ different. Today, they had finally allowed Alastair to come visit his child.

He was more than willing to deal with the bureaucracy, the searches, the suspicion, and even the intensive questionings that came with visiting the highest security prisoner if it meant he got to see Call. Alastair would have sat through it all with a smile on his face if that's what he needed to do for his son.

Rufus had been allowed to speak with Call first, much to Alastair's disdain- he was Callum's _ father _, for fuck's sake- but waiting by the door to his son's cell was better than not being able to see Call at all.

When he came walking down the hall, Alastair had to choke back his tears. There he was; skinny and paler than he would have liked. Taller and more tired. The imprisonment and Aaron's death showed in his son's eyes, but other than that, he was still recognizably the Call that Alastair had raised.

Alastair waved when he saw Call had spotted him. He was getting to see his son again. Everything else could work itself out from there.

-

He was unashamed to admit that he had cried after hanging up the call from the Assembly. To be frank, Alastair had bawled his eyes out in relief for a solid ten minutes until he could barely breath and his eyes were stinging sharply from all his tears. Then, he picked himself up off the floor, dusted off his pants and barely remembered to grab his keys before sprinting for his car.

For once, Alastair Hunt didn't drive with the utmost care for his beloved car. He drove too fast down dirt roads and ignored the bits of gravel that pelted his windshield. He could fix all of it later, but right now, Call was the most important thing. Callum, being alive and okay? That was something he could have only hoped for a mere hour ago. A few dents were _ nothing _ when compared to his son.

The battlefield was just being cleaned up when he arrived. Call was still in poor condition, Alastair could tell, but he was alive and wasn't being sent back to prison any time soon. That was workable. That was a starting point.

His son looked up exhaustedly as Alastair approached. The weariness he saw there was almost painful to look at, his eyes holding a glazed-over sheen that came from so much exertion that one had nothing left.

"Callum," he whispered, and his child- his little baby boy, who seemed so _ old _ all of a sudden- smiled a little.

"Dad," Call whispered and that was all it took for Alastair to break again. He pulled his son into his arms and held him as tenderly as he could manage to. It felt like it had been so long since they'd been just the two of them, Call and Alastair against the world. _ God _, he'd forgotten what it was like to love someone with more than your whole soul, but he felt it now, and it was achingly familiar.

He had his son back, cradled in his arms like he was a baby again. Call was going to be okay. Call was going to be _ okay _.

-

In some capacity, Alastair felt like he'd known his whole life that he'd surrender everything in someone else's name. At first, it had been Constantine, who had told him that he loved him more than anyone or anything. Then, fiery Sarah who had loved with her whole heart and fought with her whole being. And now, finally, _ truly _, there was Callum.

In many ways, his son was the greatest love of Alastair Hunt's life. From the moment he was born, Callum was at the center of Alastair's world. A tiny, perfect baby, who'd grown into his wonderful, wild son. Their relationship had been far from perfect, he was willing to admit; he wished that he'd recovered from his grief earlier, treasured their earlier moments together more dearly. But, in the end, Alastair wouldn't have changed a moment if it meant he got to watch his son grow up and grow into the young man he was becoming.

Letting go wasn't hard. It was almost liberating in a way, as Alastair allowed himself sink into the wild freedom of air magic. He released his body, he pushed off from the earth holding him back. It was as easy as magic could be.

As Alastair examined his new, lighter and gustier form, he wondered if this was really the right choice. In a way, this was a final goodbye to Callum, one last helping hand before his son grew up for good. But there was no way that Call could survive, let alone truly _ live _, if Alex was still in the picture.

Alastair Hunt had known for most of his life that he'd surrender everything in someone else's name. He couldn’t think of anyone more worthy of this than Callum.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, you made it to the end! While you're here, if you feel like giving me a comment or taking a look at [my tumblr](https://nonbinary-androids.tumblr.com/), that would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
